Rebirth
by xtheGoldenEaglex
Summary: Rhaenys Targaryen is not dead, only buried beneath the mask that is Victaria Sand. Safely tucked away in Dorne, Rhaenys trains and studies under her uncles' tutelage in the hope that one day she will exact revenge on their enemies. But when Jaime Lannister, a man she has long sworn to hate, manages to steal her heart, Rhaenys begins to question everything. Jaime/OC. AU.


**Author's Note:** i am so excited about this story! basically, Rhaenys is not killed at King's Landing and is brought to Dorne by the Spider. She's raised by her uncles. (Just so nobody is confused, Rhaenys/Victaria calls Oberyn both uncle and father. I know this is confusing, but I kept making the mistake while writing and I was going to fix it but I kind of thought that it fit with her character, because Rhaenys herself doesn't fully realise what he is to her.)

I usually try to steer clear of writing warrior female OCs, because I'm afraid of not doing them justice and making them overpowered, but I couldn't see how Oberyn would let his sister's daughter be defenseless, given that all of his daughters are warriors, and I'm beginning to really like the change. In summary, Rhaenys' new name is Victaria Sand and she is Oberyn's 'bastard daughter.'

Anywho, I hope you all like it!

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

Victaria remembered what it was like to be Rhaenys Targaryen. Rhaenys Targaryen was mannerly and polite and always did as she was told. Everyone in the Red Keep adored Rhaenys Targaryen. She was the princess, the shining sun in a keep full of darkness. Rhaenys Targaryen could even make her mother smile, even when her mother was so sad that she had to stay in bed.

But she was not Rhaenys Targaryen anymore. That was what Uncle Doran had said two years ago when the Spider brought her to Dorne. _"Rhaenys Targaryen must stay buried, just for a little while. You can do that for me, can't you Rhaenys? Just for a little while?"_ Of course she had nodded her agreement and said little else. She thought that he meant a few weeks, months at most. She thought it was a little game they were playing, and she had always excelled at games. But as the weeks turned to months and then two full years, she realised that Rhaenys Targaryen would stay buried for longer than she thought. So she became Victaria Sand, the daughter of Oberyn Martell, and somewhere along the way Victaria forgot all about Rhaenys, the princess, and became Victaria, the bastard girl.

She preferred being a bastard girl. She could run around the gardens and act like a fool, and nobody cared! She could wear breeches and say stupid things, and nobody would scold her. There were no limits as a bastard, no rules. Rhaenys – no, _Victaria_ , could do whatever she wanted. _And nobody cared._

(She was six years old and drunk on freedom when she was proven otherwise.)

It was Obara's fault, really. Obara had tempted her into picking up a sword – a real one, made of steel instead of wood – and duelling her older sister. _Sister –_ the word felt strange, even to think. Victaria had only ever had a brother – little Aegon – yet now she had sisters. She shook her head and raised her sword, just as she had seen Nymeria do during her training sessions. Obara chose a spear as her weapon, but Victaria always had a fascination with swords.

"I will go easy on you," Obara said, with a smirk that said otherwise.

Fighting was a dance to Obara. The way she moved was elegant yet deadly. Victaria found it difficult to keep up with all her lavish movements. She managed to parry the first blow, and the second, and the third... before she started to get tired and slower. She never thought swordfighting was so tiring! Her head hurt, her body ached... yet Victaria loved every minute of it. She lasted five minutes, and that was when Obara knocked her to the ground.

"You fight like a baby," Obara mocked, looking down on Victaria with a cocky smirk on her lips. Victaria swore that someday, she would knock that smirk right off her face.

"Shut up, Obara," Victaria grumbled as she scrambled onto her feet. No doubt bruises would mar her skin when she woke up tomorrow morning. Her back hurt already from falling onto the ground.

"What is this?" Startled, Victaria spun around. She saw her uncles – her uncle and _father_ , now – marching towards them. Doran looked very angry, but her new father... only looked amused, as though he was privy to some great joke.

"We were swordfighting, uncle," Obara stated and shot Victaria a small smirk. "I won, of course."

"Go to your room, Obara." Though she felt strange pleasure at seeing Obara scolded, Victaria was afraid of what her uncle was going to say to her. _Why is he so mad? I have done nothing wrong!_ Doran turned to Victaria once Obara had stormed off in a huff. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I... Obara asked me to duel. I didn't think there was a problem," she stammered, looking up at her Uncle Doran with wide violet eyes.

Her uncle sighed heavily and folded his arms over his chest. "You did not ask me for permission, Victaria. That is the problem. It is not safe for you to duel. You are too young."

"Obara and Nymeria were allowed to duel when they were my age!" Victaria objected, forgetting her manners. She couldn't help herself – she had always wanted to be a warrior like her older sisters and she didn't see why she was treated differently.

"That was different," Doran countered, shaking his head.

"How?" she asked boldly, mimicking Doran by crossing her arms.

"It's just how it is, Victaria. I have had enough of this. You are not allowed to swordfight and that is it!"

"No, uncle!" Victaria could hear her mother's voice scolding her, telling her to behave herself like a good princess, but she ignored it and stomped her foot impetuously. "It is not fair!"

"Perhaps not," Doran agreed. She could see the anger burning in his eyes and cowered. She had not wanted to anger him. She was only frustrated with being treated differently to Nym and Obara. "But Nymeria and Obara are not the last of their house. They are not Rhaenys Targaryen."

Victaria hadn't heard that name in years. Just hearing it made her flinch. _Rhaenys Targaryen. That's my name._ But it didn't feel like her name. "Neither am I," she replied. "You told me to bury her. I did, uncle. I am Victaria, remember?"

For some reason her words shocked Uncle Doran, and even her father flinched at them. Victaria blinked, confused. Had she said something wrong? She didn't have time to think about it as Doran responded quicker than she thought he would. "I remember," he said sadly, with a sadder smile. "But she will not be buried forever, child. I promise you that."

 _I don't even remember who she is. I don't even remember who I am._ Instead of saying anything else and risk making her uncles more upset, Victaria merely nodded and said quietly, "Yes, uncle."

Her Uncle Doran patted the top of her head before departing. "I will talk to him," her father promised, pressing a quick kiss on her forehead. He ran after his brother.

Victaria was alone. "Rhaenys Targaryen," she said quietly to herself. _But I am Victaria Sand._

* * *

"What are you doing, Doran?"

His brother did not turn around to face him and kept walking. "What are you talking about?"

Oberyn scoffed. "You make plans for revenge. Every one of these plans of yours involve putting Victaria on the throne, yet you refuse to train her as a warrior when she is more than willing, and you keep all of these plans secret from her. So I ask again, what are you doing?"

His anger did not shock his brother, who made no indication that he had even heard Oberyn. Doran led them to his solar. He poured two cups of wine and handed one to Oberyn, who eyed the cup suspiciously.

"Elia is gone," Doran spoke after a few minutes of silence and intense staring. "Victaria is all we have left of her. I have a duty, to Elia, to Victaria, to keep her safe."

"Bullshit," Oberyn spat, slamming his cup on the table and positioning himself threateningly close to Doran. "You know what happened to Elia. If she could have defended herself..."

"Gregor Clegane would have over-powered her still and we would still be where we are now." Doran frowned, taking note of his brother's angry expression. Sighing, he began to speak more calmly. "I am afraid, Oberyn. I am afraid that if we raise Victaria with the aim of putting her on the throne, that she will be consumed by bloodthirst and revenge. I have seen what your need for vengeance has done to you. I do not want that for Elia's daughter."

"So you allow her to be defenceless, you allow her to be a sitting duck in a world where women like Elia are raped and _slaughtered_ because they cannot defend themselves, because you are _afraid_?" Oberyn snarled. "You are a craven."

"And you are consumed by hatred and bitterness," Doran spat back. "Revenge has ruined you, brother. You no longer fight and train because it is natural to you, but because you lust for blood. I want revenge too. I want Tywin Lannister to feel our pain. I want Gregor Clegane's head mounted on our wall! But I will not let it consume me, and I will not let it corrupt a little girl!"

"Then you are a fool," Oberyn replied, shaking his head. He let out a humourless laugh. "I repeat, what is your plan? You will not raise Victaria to be queen, but you wish to someday place her on the throne and seek vengeance for our sister. When will that day come, Doran? And when it does, she will be unprepared! A woman hiding behind her soldiers does not command respect from the people of Westeros. A woman who has no idea how to rule does not deserve respect from anyone!" He paused and shook his head again. "You do not know what you're doing."

"I know perfectly well what I am doing," Doran sharply corrected. "When she is older and better able to understand, I will educate her on ruling."

"And when will you allow her to fight?" Doran pressed his lips together and didn't respond, so Oberyn asked again. "When, Doran?"

"Steel breeds vengeance. Swords are bearers of rage," he said calmly, looking Oberyn dead in the eye. "You know that better than anyone. I will not have her become _you_."

His blood began to boil. Oberyn clenched his fists by his side and snarled at Doran. "Then you are signing her death warrant. _You know better than anyone_ that the world is not kind to little girls who cannot protect themselves. I have two daughters of my blood and I have claimed Victaria as mine. I will not let any daughter of mine be defenceless."

"You will not disobey me," Doran warned with a sharp look.

Scoffing, Oberyn gave his brother and lord a shallow bow. "As you wish, _brother_." He snarled the word like it was a curse before storming out of his solar. He marched towards the gardens, where he found his claimed daughter exactly where he expected her to be, reading by the fountain. "Come, Victaria," he called. His daughter looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes. He gave her a wicked grin. "You want to fight, do you not?"

At that, Victaria's face was split by a very large smile as she jumped up and nodded vehemently. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Chuckling at her enthusiasm, Oberyn placed a hand on her back and walked with her towards the tiltyard. "Then it is decided. Which will be your weapon, daughter? The spear, the sword, the whip or the knife. You will learn just one first and then another. Choose well." He showed her the abundance of weapons in the smithery and watched as her face became alight with wonder.

She traced her fingers along a sword and turned around to him, sword in hand. "This."

"Very well," he nodded, taking the sword from her. " _But_ , you cannot train with steel just yet. Here. This will do for now."

He placed a wooden sword in her hand. His daughter pouted at the sight. "But I cannot cut anyone with this."

Oberyn chuckled. "No, you cannot, and you cannot cut yourself either. Train hard and you will be using steel in no time. Come. We must practice somewhere where Doran cannot find us."

Victaria became thoughtful. _She looks so much like Elia that it hurts._ Oberyn gulped down the lump in his throat. _Not now._ What would Elia think of him? Would she have agreed with her daughter learning to fight? _I do it for you, sister. So that your daughter will always be able to defend herself against evil men._ Elia was a gentle soul. She hated bloodshed and fighting, but she also saw the necessity of it. She would understand. She would _see_.

"The godswood," Victaria's soft voice broke him out of his trance and back to the present world. "Nobody goes there anymore."

"Oh?" Oberyn's interest was piqued. His niece often disappeared for long periods of time where no one knew where she went. But Victaria always came back in one piece, so Oberyn never questioned her or scolded her for disappearing. A little girl was allowed her secrets. Oberyn grinned down at her daughter. "To the godswood then."

The godswood –or the old, burnt down forest that remained – was where Oberyn trained his niece – _his daughter_ , rather, for as time went by Victaria became more and more like his own child and less like his niece. If Doran was going to shirk his duty to Victaria, to Elia and her memory, it was Oberyn's duty to pick up the pieces. So he told Victaria _everything_. He reminded her of her real name, of the throne that was rightfully hers. Doran was wrong. The truth did not corrupt Victaria. Putting a sword in her hand did not make her bloodthirsty. When Victaria fought, it was like a dance. She had Oberyn's skill, his quickness, his agility, and none of his bloodthirst. She fought like she was born to do nothing else. Forbidding her to fight was a sin, as far as Oberyn was concerned, just as failing to avenge Elia's murder was a sin.

At age eleven, Victaria was trained harder than any of her sisters, than any Dornish prince or princess before her. They spent hours training in the burnt down godswood beneath the blistering sun. When Victaria complained of being too tired or too hot, Oberyn reminded her of why they fought. _For vengeance. For blood. For Elia._ Victaria always picked up her sword after that.

"Harder," Oberyn commanded as Victaria's swings became slower. She was getting tired, but Victaria Sand could not afford to be tired. If she was to someday claim the Iron Throne, she would have many enemies that would want her dead. She would have to be a better fighter than even him.

Victaria put all of her strength into one final swing, one that managed to cut his arm, before Oberyn overpowered her. He saw that she was tired and took advantage of that, kicking her sword out of her hand and knocking her onto the ground. His niece looked up at him, wide-eyed and scared as he pointed his sword between her eyes.

He lowered his sword and stepped back. "Come on, Victaria! Harder! You are stronger than you think," he barked at her, unable to hold back his frustration.

She looked as though she was about to complain, but thought better of it and reached for her sword. She scrambled to her feet and raised her sword, inhaling deeply before pouncing. Her swings were hard and fast, much better than before. Oberyn let out a booming laugh as his daughter began to overpower him. "That's it, Victaria! Keep going, harder!" Victaria complied, growling beneath her breath as her swings only increased in intensity and strength. She dodged his blows well, but it became clear after a few minutes that she had exhausted herself. Her swings were slower, her movements more lazy. Oberyn was about to go in for the kill when he heard a voice yell from a distance.

"Oberyn! What is this?" the voice was yelling at him. Oberyn turned around to see his brother limping towards him at a remarkable pace for someone of his affliction. He saw his niece, Arianne, watching from behind a bush. _Brat,_ he thought to himself. She must have been the one to see them. _We were so careful!_

"Brother, good day to you," Oberyn replied chirpily, which only earned him a glare from Doran.

"Enough with the games, Oberyn," Doran snapped. "I repeat, what is this?"

"This, Doran," he began, stepping closer to the Prince of Dorne so that their faces were mere inches apart, "is justice. I told you once that I would never again allow a woman of Dorne to leave the safety of Sunspear defenceless. I told you that, I promised you that, and here we are, _brother_." He gestured to Victaria, grinning. "She fights better than you ever did. She was born to _fight_ , just like her sisters. To my daughters, fighting is like _breathing_. You would not take away her air, would you?"

Doran glared at him, eyes narrowed to slits. "You disobeyed me. I told you my reasons, my plans, You swore to me that you would not teach her how to fight!"

"I lied," Oberyn declared, unashamed, smirking.

"You would turn her into _you_ , if you had your way! A vengeful, _spiteful_ , little man!" Doran spat. The smirk fell off Oberyn's face as he felt anger rise within him. Had his daughter not stood beside him, he would have wrapped his hand around Doran's measly little neck and squeezed the life from him! "Now you put a sword in her hand, she will have to fight in wars – she will want to fight in our wars! What would Elia think? Our sister, gentle and soft and kind – what would she have thought of her daughter being sent off to war? Did you think of that? Did you even _care_?"

"Of course I care!" Oberyn snapped. "But Elia was more sensible than you ever were! She would have seen the necessity of it. She saw what happens when girls leave Dorne without being able to protect themselves."

His brother pressed his lips together in a thin line, scowling at Oberyn. He looked over at his young niece, and Oberyn looking at the girl he had claimed as his daughter as well. Her violet eyes were wide and frightened, like a deer about to be slaughtered. She was so _young_. Oberyn often forgot that she was only eleven. She was so intelligent and so burdened for her age. _Have I caused this? With all my talk of revenge, have I burdened a little girl with the legacy of an entire dynasty?_

Yes, he had. But Oberyn didn't see any other way.

"Go back to the keep, Victaria," Doran commanded, giving his niece a kind smile.

Victaria looked between Doran and Oberyn, unsure of what to do. Oberyn gave her a smile and a nod. Reluctantly, Victaria bowed her head and walked back to the castle, looking over her shoulder at her father and uncle just before she left the burnt-down godswood.

"We have to prepare her," Oberyn said, his voice much softer now. Doran stared after his niece, a pensive expression on his face. "If she is to be queen, we must prepare her for it. You know this, Doran. She has a difficult life ahead of her, full of bloodshed and vengeance. Allowing her to be naive and ignorant to the ways of the world will only make it worse. Come on, Doran. You are an intelligent man, much cleverer than I ever was. You must see this."

"It is not the life Elia would have wanted for her daughter," Doran turned his attention back to Oberyn.

He calmed at the mention of his dead sister. "No, it is not. But it is the life that she has been dealt. You fear for her becoming like me. I admit, I do not want that for her either. But I swear to you, Doran, she has a kind heart. Too kind, I often think. But she has not been corrupted by the truth, as you once feared, only enlightened. I think she would make a good ruler."

"She is too young to decide such things," Doran started to scold him again. "Eleven is too young to judge whether or not she would be a good queen."

"She would be a better ruler than the Usurper, that is for certain," Oberyn remarked. "And with your tutelage, Westeros will see a wise ruler upon the Iron Throne for the first time in almost a century."

Sighing, Doran seemed to agree with his brother for once. Oberyn started to think that he was almost convinced. "You speak with such certainty."

"I am certain," Oberyn promised. "I am certain that if we do not start preparing her for war and for being a ruler, then all hope for revenge, for restoring her to her rightful place on the throne, is lost. I am certain that she is ready too. She is stronger than you think."

Doran smiled fondly. "She is Elia's daughter," he stated, before his mood sobered and he faced Oberyn with a stern look. "If she is to be a warrior, then you will train her to be the best. Better than your daughters. Better than even you. Do you understand?" Oberyn gave a firm nod. Doran seemed appeased. "I will start lessons with her tomorrow on strategy and ruling."

"So this is it," Oberyn stated, grinning madly. "This is the beginning."

"The beginning of what?"

Oberyn looked his brother dead in the eye and stated darkly, " _Our revenge_."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** the next few chapters with be set during seasons 1-3. Season 4 will be when the storyline really gets started. Oh, for the sake of the story, I've decided to omit Daenerys Targaryen. It isn't at all because I dislike her character - in fact she's one of my favourites - but I felt like the end goal of Rhaenys and Daenerys' storylines are too similar. Rhaenys will seek the Iron Throne at some point in the story. but she will go about it differently to how Daenerys is. It's just that I thought having the two in the story would be repetitive, if that makes sense?

Hope nobody's too upset with that.

Reviews are always appreciated!


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